My Theater Romance

4. Gerard & Frank Rehearse Scene Three

Gerard was pleasantly surprised when Frank texted him a Wanna come home with me after school Friday and work on lines?

The truth was that Gerard couldn’t care less about working on lines, he mostly just wanted to hang out with Frank who would hopefully be wearing that one pair of jeans, and he wanted to see Frank’s house, too, because maybe it was stalkerish or creepy or just plain fucking obsessive, but Gerard wanted to know every single thing about him – what he smelled like, and his middle name, and his favorite color, and what he wanted to be when he grew up.

Friday dragged on forever, and Mikey was awkwardly avoiding him for some reason and only hanging out with Taylo, and Gerard was worried about him because he looked like shit and he’d seen him crying more than once, but Mikey pushed him away every time he tried to talk and Gerard sort of gave up, hoping that Taylo could help him through whatever he was going through.

Finally Gerard had drama, and he hurtled down the hallway and sat down in the back next to Frank, who passed him an earbud. Gerard put it in. It was Angel’s Wings, by Social Distortion, which was one of Gerard’s favorite songs and also extremely romantic, causing him to blush.

“Lines!” Mr. Wentz shouted. “I want you to have them down by next Friday!”

“We should probably work on lines,” Frank sighed melancholically. (A/N: Wow, I didn’t know that was actually a word but apparently it is.) “Wanna start off on Scene Three?”

Scene Three was awkward as fuck because it was mostly them talking about kissing and then actually kissing, twice, and Gerard was pretty sure that if he had to fake-kiss Frank Iero he wouldn’t be able to resist real-kissing him, and if he had to really kiss him he’d probably end up blowing him right there on stage, and that was something Gerard’s mother probably didn’t want to see.

“What is yonder lady? Oh, she doth teach the torches to burn bright.” Frank recited.

Gerard gaped. Frank’s acting voice – Frank reading in general – was possibly more attractive than Morrissey, and that was saying a lot, but damn, son, that Iero boy was a fineass motherfucker. Gerard tucked his feet under his chair and stared up at Frank from under his eyelashes.

Frank’s stomach flip-flopped at the way Gerard was looking at him, all pretty and open-mouthed, small, pearly teeth tugging on his lower lip, because Jesus – or Satan – or some shit – Gerard was fucking pretty like that, and that led Frank’s mind to the dream he’d had just last night about certain people in certain booty shorts, and it was slightly more descriptive than the last few, but Gerard Way in booty shorts –

Frank quickly put his script down over his lap. “It’s your turn.”

“Oh!” Gerard said, jumping in his seat. “S-sorry.”

After what seemed like forever, Drama was over, and Frank beckoned for Gerard to follow him. Gerard grabbed his backpack, and, following him, found himself on the school steps with Frank, who was carrying his skateboard and backpack. He pointed. “It’s that way – only a five minute walk.”

Gerard and Frank walked in silence. They’d gotten to the point where neither of them really felt the need to make conversation – the silence was comfortable enough, and the sound of backpacks clunking against backs and Frank’s skateboard dragging on the ground.

Frank stopped in front of a small, pale blue-painted house with curtains in the windows and a Miata in the driveway. “Here we are.”

The inside of the house was a bit cluttered. There were knick knacks on the shelves and dishes piled up in the kitchen sink, and a fuzzy gray carpet covering most of the floor. There was a fireplace in the wall and a couch and TV across from it. A hallway led off to what Gerard assumed to be bedrooms. The house smelled like fresh bread and good times.

Frank dropped his skateboard and backpack by the door and kicked off his Converse. Gerard followed suit. The house was quiet. Frank popped a CD in the player and soon it wasn’t quiet anymore – the sound of Nine Inch Nails filled the house. Gerard fucking loved Nine Inch Nails. He added that to his list of reasons to marry Frank Iero someday.

Frank grabbed a bag of chips from the kitchen and headed down the hall. Gerard followed him to his room. “Sorry it’s so messy,” Frank apologized.

Gerard stopped in the doorway and found himself opening and closing his mouth like a fish. There was a bed taking up one side of the tiny room, with a nightstand next to it, and a desk on the other side, strewn about with homework that Gerard knew was due months ago. There was also a bookshelf and a dresser. Between the desk and the wall next to it was a white guitar with stickers on it that spelled out P-A-N-S-Y. Oh god, the thought of Frank Iero playing guitar – Gerard directed his attention to the posters plastering the wall.

He saw a Metallica poster – he had that one too – and a Smashing Pumpkins one, an Iron Maiden one, a Misfits one, a Nirvana one, a 52 Pickup one, an Operation Ivy one, a Motley Crue one – Gerard fucking loved Motley Crue – and a Murderdolls one. Gerard was sold.

And fuck. Frank’s room smelled like lemons.

“I like the guitar,” Gerard finally managed to croak out after a long, uncomfortable silence.

“Thanks,” Frank said. He crossed over to the corner and picked it up, sitting down on his desk chair and turning toward his bed, where Gerard had plunked himself down. “This is Pansy.”

He strummed the strings, and fuck, that was the hottest thing Gerard had ever seen, hands down, Taylor Lautner included. Damn.

Frank started to play a tune that Gerard recognized as Blink-182’s The Rock Show (A/N: This is important. If you don’t know this song, go look it up and listen to it. Your life will become 7674875628736507436 times better – and even if you think you don’t know it, you probably do – it’s the one that’s all like “I FELL IN LOVE WITH THE GIRL AT THE ROCK SHOW SHE SAID WHAT AND I TOLD HER THAT I DIDN’T KNOW, but anyway, go look it up and make the world a better place), and he grinned, singing along under his breath as he watched Frank’s hands move up and down the guitar strings. Holy shit, Frank had nice hands. God, Frank had nice hands. Fuck, Frank had really fucking nice hands.

As the last notes faded away, Frank set down his guitar. “So what do you wanna do?”

Marry you, Gerard almost answered, and then caught himself. He shrugged. “I dunno.”

Frank sprawled on the bed next to him, his skinny-jean-clad leg gently brushing Gerard’s and shit, Gerard was trying so hard not to push him up against the headboard and kiss him senseless.

The room was silent, and the CD Frank had put on stopped a while ago. Frank stood up and stuck his phone on its dock, and the Misfits’ Helena (A/N: different than MCR’s, so go look it up, but be careful ‘cause the video is hella gory) blasted through the room.

Steps came down the hall, and a woman wearing excessive amounts of makeup stuck her head in the room. “Frank, hon, I’m going to work – I should be back around dinner time – so don’t forget to work on your homework, and there should be snacks in the fridge and in the cabinet.”

“Okay, Mom,” Frank sighed.

That was Frank’s Mom? She looked so young! Gerard’s mom never wore that much makeup, or such high heels, or such a short skirt. Of course, Gerard’s mom couldn’t pull it off either, but that wasn’t the point.

“Who’s your friend?” she asked kindly, waving at Gerard.

“Oh, this is Gerard,” Frank said awkwardly. “He’s from school.”

“Hi, Gerard. I’m Linda,” Frank’s mom said. “Well, have a good time boys. Stay in school and don’t do drugs. Bye.” With that solemn parting, she whisked out the door. Gerard heard the front door slam and the key turn in the lock, and then the house was silent except for the Misfits.

“Sorry,” Frank apologized. “My mom is… my mom.”

“I think she’s nice,” Gerard said truthfully. “What does she do for work?”

“She…” Frank turned bright red, but squared his shoulders and tightened his jaw. He was fucking proud of his mom for doing what it took to rake in the money. “She’s a stripper. Sure, it’s not the best of jobs, but it pays the bills, and there’ve been a lot of those since my dad left when I was a baby.”

“There’s nothing wrong with being a stripper, you know,” Gerard said, and Frank’s spirits fucking soared. “I dunno – everyone gets all worked up about sex when it’s really just a thing that most people enjoy, but they’re all too scared to tell people that they do.”

“Finally, someone who fucking gets it!” Frank said, throwing his arms out dramatically.

Gerard wasn’t really sure what to say, so he just nodded. The room lapsed into silence, and Frank stood up, stretching. Gerard uncrossed his legs and stood up as well. Frank’s room was so small he was practically already at the door, and Frank only about half a foot away from him, and Frank was wearing those jeans today, and Geesus, Gerard really fucking liked that punk rock midget.

They stood there staring at each other for a second, and then Gerard giggled. Fuck. Why did his giggle have to be so girly? “Awkward silen – ”

He never finished his sentence.

Frank closed the small space between them and slammed him up against the door, pushing his lips against the taller boy’s. Gerard responded immediately, snaking a hand behind Frank’s head and into his hair, and Frank hummed into the kiss a little bit, deepening it. He gently rubbed his tongue against Gerard’s lower lip, and Gerard opened his mouth slightly, letting Frank’s tongue in to flick against his teeth, and holy shit, he’d dreamed of this a million times, but it was even better than he thought it’d be, because it was real.

Frank stuck one hand in Gerard’s back pocket, and let the other run up his thigh, reaching his hip and drumming his fingers on it as he bit down gently and tugged on Gerard’s lower lip, and fuck, Gerard was gone. He was putty in Frank’s gorgeous hands. He moaned loudly into Frank’s mouth, and Frank took that as incentive to squeeze slightly with the hand in Gerard’s back pocket, because fuck, Gerard had a nice ass, and Frank was a sucker for nice asses, both literally and figuratively.

Gerard snuck his spare hand up Frank’s thigh and slightly under his shirt to his hipbone, gently rubbing circles on his skin with his thumb, and pushed up against Frank slightly, and now it was Frank’s turn to moan, except he didn’t moan, he fucking mewled into Gerard’s mouth, and if that wasn’t the hottest thing ever Gerard didn’t know what was. He broke away, panting, his pupils dilated so that you could only see the smallest ring of hazel.

Frank pulled Gerard towards his bed and Gerard sat down, both stunned and lust-blown, and Frank stood between his legs, kissing him again and burying his hands in Gerard’s hair, pulling slightly. Gerard wrapped his legs around Frank, and deepened the kiss, his tongue playing with Frank’s lip ring. Frank made that mewling noise again, and Gerard pulled him closer, which wasn’t really possible, but somehow happened anyway.

Frank extracted a hand from Gerard’s hair and rested it on the inside of Gerard’s thigh, teasingly close to the bulge in his jeans, and Gerard moaned softly. Frank grinned against Gerard’s mouth and whispered, brown eyes wide and innocent like a deer in the headlights, “Slut.” And holy fucking shit, Gerard nearly came in his pants like a fucking thirteen year old, because the way Frank said that, with his tongue against Gerard’s and his hand pulling Gerard’s hair gently and the way he smelled like fresh rain and tasted like fucking lemons, was simply unfair.

“Your slut,” Gerard corrected, mumbling against Frank’s lips, and he smiled slightly, because he’d finally fazed Frank, who forgot about technique and just pushed himself against Gerard as much as he could, hips and chest and thighs with absolutely no space between them, and his mouth forgetting about anything but kissing Gerard as if there was nothing left, just a jumble of spit and teeth and misplaced tongues, but it was Frank’s jumble, and so Gerard was okay with it, especially because Frank kept making those desperate little high-pitched mewling noises, and to Gerard that was the hottest thing in the world.

He reached behind Frank and squeezed his ass, just to get him back, and that maybe wasn’t such a good idea, at least according to the rational part of Gerard’s brain, but the rational part was much overtaken by the holyshiti’mmakingoutwithfrankfuckingiero part, and so Gerard did it again, because Frank did have a wonderful butt. Gerard never doubted it, of course – he stared at it enough – but this was proof.

Frank pushed Gerard down so he was lying on his back and straddled him, and Gerard got a lovely view of his nostrils, and was it possible for someone to have attractive nostrils? Because if it was, Frank Iero did.

Gerard grabbed Frank by the belt loops and pulled him by his lower section down onto Gerard’s hips, and Frank teasingly sat still, hands moving up and down Gerard’s abdomen, fingers drumming and rubbing here and there, and Gerard wasn’t capable of doing anything at all except gripping Frank’s hips and letting loose a string of moans that the entire world could probably hear.

Frank started moving ridiculously slowly, his butt gently rubbing against the top of Gerard’s thighs, and Frank was grinning like a madman, because Gerard was so fucking beautiful like this, black hair spread out like a fan against the pillows, pupils dilated, pale cheeks flushed pink, chapped lips letting loose needy whimpers.

“Fuck – ” Gerard grabbed Frank’s hips and pulled him down further, made him fucking move, because that was what he damn needed.

Frank finally started moving faster, and leaned down, whispering in Gerard’s ear, “Greedy,” and it was sin itself the way the words left his lips, and Gerard could barely fucking breathe, because this was Frank Iero with him spread out on his bed, Frank Iero grinding on him, and Gerard had no idea what Frank saw in him, but he wasn’t complaining, not at all.

Frank pushed down harder and moved slightly slower, and Gerard couldn’t stop fucking whimpering. Frank leaned down, tenderly kissing first Gerard’s forehead and then eyelids and then nose and finally lips, and the softness was such a contrast to the friction lower down, Gerard could barely stand it. He swiped his tongue against Frank’s, sucking on it gently, and Frank let loose a low, needy, drawn-out growl of, “Ah, fuuuuuuuck…”, and Gerard saw stars when he closed his eyes.

Gerard wasn’t sure he could hold out much longer, and apparently Frank felt the same, because he slowly stopped and rolled off Gerard, who was mildly disappointed, but didn’t want to explain to his mom why he needed a new pair of jeans.

They lay on the bed next to each other, panting, and their eyes met. It was possibly the most awkward thing that ever happened to Gerard, because he wasn’t sure what it even meant. Did Frank want to be his boyfriend? Or just some guy he occasionally made out with? Or did he never want to do that again?

Suddenly, they both started laughing for absolutely no fucking reason whatsoever, and Frank grabbed Gerard’s hands in his, and the two lay in Frank’s bed, laughing hysterically, and Gerard buried his face in Frank’s sweaty shoulder, laughing and laughing and laughing, because Scene Three’d be no problem after this.

Mikey, who was having much less luck than his brother, curled up in his bed, stuck in his earbuds, and turned up the volume as high as it would go. He wasn’t not having luck, it was just that stupidass Mike in the way. He closed his eyes, remembering once again what had happened at the party…

Billie Joe sat down in the grass, somehow crossing his legs even though his jeans were about 4362767386520756 times tighter than anything Mikey had ever seen, and Mikey followed suit.

“Here.” Billie Joe held out his hand and Mikey passed him the cigarettes, their hands brushing slightly. Mikey almost died, blushing a hideous shade of what Gerard would call “Alizarin Crimson”.

Billie Joe stuck a cigarette between his lips, and the mental images produced by Mikey of what that cigarette could be switched out with were really not good things to think about in such tight jeans. Billie Joe took his lighter and lit the cigarette, puffing smoke out of his nose, and his Medusa piercing glinted in the clouds, and Mikey crossed his legs uncomfortably.

“Here.” Billie Joe took the cigarette out of his mouth and passed it to Mikey. “You try.” The smoke billowed from his mouth when he talked. Mikey wondered what it’d be like to kiss him.

Mikey took the cigarette and took an experimental, slow breath, determined not to look like an idiot, because just because he didn’t smoke didn’t mean he couldn’t smoke. He exhaled, and the smoke came from his nose and his mouth. He coughed a little bit and then immediately stifled it with a horribly fake sneeze, breathing out slower this time and finally not coughing his lungs out.

Billie Joe held his hand out and Mikey passed him the cigarette. He popped it back between his lips, which meant that in technical terms they kissed… right? Mikey nearly slapped himself in the face.

“Here.” Billie Joe said again. He stuck a cigarette between Mikey’s lips, and holy shit, his fingers brushed against them, and he had the smoothest fingers Mikey had ever seen. He lit the cigarette, and Mikey did it without coughing this time. He mentally pumped his fist and did a victory dance.

“So how old ‘re you?” Billie Joe asked, putting a hand on the grass behind him and leaning back.

Mikey considered lying, but he didn’t. “Fifteen. What about you?” he asked. He figured he may as well be brash.

“Twenty.”

“How d’you get your cigs then?”

“Mike.” His eyes lit up when he said the name. “My boyfriend.”

“Oh,” Mikey said, his stomach sinking.

“Yeah. He was the blonde guy from inside – not Bob or Tré, but the other one.” Billie Joe took a drag on his cigarette. “We’ve been dating for a year now. He’s really great.”

“He seems nice,” said Mikey, who had never talked to Mike and would’ve liked to disembowel him with a scalpel. There was only room for one Michael around here.

“Mhm.” Billie Joe took another drag and stared off at the sky. Mikey attempted to do the same and coughed.

“So how d’you know Tay and Taylor?” Mikey asked in a lame attempt at conversation.

“I dunno Tay all that well – I mean we’ve hung out, and I’d call us friends – but we’ve never really talked, but Taylor was my sister’s best friend for a long time. We dated for a while. It’s kinda funny – she’s how I figured out I was bi and I’m how she figured out she was lesbian. I guess you could say we kinda hated each other for a while.”

Mikey laughed mirthlessly. “Yeah. I can't really imagine Taylor dating a guy, to be honest. God, Taylor kissing a guy – I can't really imagine her kissing anyone other than Tay.”

“They were fucking made for each other,” Billie Joe agreed. “They’re gonna grow up and get married – adopt a kid and raise them to be a stubborn little shit – grow old and hang in a nursing home – ”

“ – If someone doesn’t kill them prematurely for pissing them off,” Mikey finished.

Billie Joe grinned. “I’d like to see someone try to kill Tay or Taylor. The other one’d beat the shit out of them.”

Mikey smiled. “Yeah.”

They sat in silence for a while, and then Billie Joe remarked out of nowhere, grinning wickedly, “You like me, don’t you?”

Mikey turned hot pink, caught by surprise. “Yes – I mean no – I mean – ”

“That’s cute,” Billie Joe laughed, puffing out smoke as he did so and going into a crazy coughing fit, which Mikey found adorable. “Fuck.” He finally stopped coughing and flipped off his cigarette. He then commenced to throw it over the fence into the neighbor’s yard. “Can I have your number?” he asked.

“Sure.” Mikey grinned. They exchanged phones and Mikey typed in his number, naming his contact, and then passed it back.

Mikey blushed for the millionth time that day when he saw that Billie Joe had named his contact | ♥ Billie Joe Armstrong ♥ | and then realized Wow, Mikey Armstrong. I like it.

“Mikey Way?” he asked. Mikey looked up, nodding. “Well, Mikeyway – ” he said it like one word “ – you should text me anytime. Like seriously, anytime. I’m a fucking insomniac, I never sleep. I’m only ever untextable during band practice.”

“You’re in a band?” Mikey asked. And just when he thought the green-eyed man couldn’t get any hotter…

“Mhm. Me and Mike and Tré. I’m guitar and vocals, Mike’s bass, and Tré’s drums.”

Holy shit, Mikey thought. Billie Joe Armstrong – even a hot name – playing the guitar – and fucking singing.

“Sing me something,” Mikey said.

Billie Joe cleared his throat and took a deep breath, laughing nervously. “Sorry. I’m self conscious as fuck. Anyways, I wrote this one. It’s called Good Riddance.” He took another deep breath and started out.

“Another turning point, a fork stuck in the road. Time grabs you by the wrist, directs you where to go. So make the best of this test and don’t ask why. It’s not a question but a lesson learned in time. It’s something unpredictable, but in the end it’s right. I hope you have the time of your life…”

Mikey sat mesmerized the entire song, mouth gaping, eyes locked with Billie Joe’s. As the last notes faded away, Billie Joe laughed. “Sorry. It’s not that good.”

“No…” Mikey breathed. “That was… that was amazing. Sing me something else please?” he clapped his hands together like a little child.

“I dunno…” Billie Joe teased.

“Please?” Mikey stuck out his lower lip and widened his eyes.

“Okay, fine.” Billie Joe relented, grinning. “This one is called Paper Lanterns.” (A/N: If you don’t know this song, which you probably don’t, go look it up right now – Paper Lanterns by Green Day. It’s on 1039/Smoothed Out Slappy Hours and it’s one of my favorite songs by them. If you don’t like it at first, just wait till Billie Joe Armstrong says, “I still think about you”, and then go cry for three hours.)

Billie Joe coughed, and then started. “Now I rest my head from such an endless dreary time…”

When he finished, Mikey clapped. “You’re really, really fucking good. Hell, you could be a one-man band if you wanted.”

Billie Joe blushed, and Mikey clenched his fists, because no only was he hot, he was also cute, and perfect, and Mikey was so fucking jealous of that stupid Mike.

Billie Joe stood up and stretched. Mikey’s eyes followed the line of his toned arms and broad chest, and he sighed involuntarily. Billie Joe looked down, suddenly serious. He kneeled again in front of Mikey, and put his hands on his shoulders. “Look, you know I’m too old for you, right?” he said gently, green eyes worried, and that just fucked everything up more, because if he was an asshole Mikey could handle it, but instead he was being so nice.

Mikey nodded miserably. “I know.”

“Maybe if things were different – if I wasn’t dating Mike – if it wasn’t against the law, or if you were older or I were younger – but look, don’t get too hung up on it, okay?”

“Okay.” Mikey said, attempting nonchalance but really just waiting to go home and cry because it most certainly was not okay.

“But I’d really like to be friends though, okay? And I can be a terrible flirt sometimes – I’m sorry – naming myself that in your phone was a dick move – but I’d really like to be friends with you, Mikeyway. You should come watch my band practice sometime.”

“Okay,” Mikey said again, unable to move.

“I have to – I’m sorry – ” with that he took Mikey’s cigarette from his mouth gently kissed Mikey on the lips for a fraction of a second, just long enough for him to taste ginger and smell aftershave – and then Billie Joe stood up and offered Mikey a hand. “Come on, Mikeyway.”

Mikey stood up, numbly, not taking his hand. He followed him inside, to were Tay and Taylor were laughing on the couch over something. “What’s up?” he asked. His voice sounded weird. He cleared his throat.

“MIKEY, YOU WON’T BELIEVE IT!” Taylor jumped up on the couch. “MR. URIE AND RYAN ROSS ARE GOING OUT! I heard it from Alex Gaskarth who heard it from Jack Barakat who heard it from Spencer Smith who heard it from Ashley Purdy who heard it from Sandra Alvarenga who saw them holding hands!”

Mikey stood there for a second. “Mr. Styles is gonna kill them.” Mr. Harry Styles was the dickhead principal – pretty much a racist, sexist, homophobic, creepy fucktard who liked to do surprise girl’s locker room inspections.

“Mr. Styles can go fuck himself,” Tay said scornfully.

“But that’s gay,” Mikey smirked. Everyone laughed.

“We’ve already started writing a fic about them.” Taylor said innocently.

“Oh, god…” Mikey sat down on the couch, covering his face with his hands. “Please don’t read it.” Most of the stuff Taylo wrote was fucking nasty.

“Ryan was kneeling on a towel in the bathtub…” Tay started.

Taylor kissed her to shut her up. “Spare him.”

Mikey opened his eyes again. The room was still dark, and his Metallica had faded out into… oh, fucking hell. Billie Joe had sent him a free download of his band Green Day’s music, and now one of their songs had started playing on his phone. It was apparently called Wake Me Up When September Ends. Leave it to Billie Joe to think of poetic shit that Mikey couldn’t figure out but still found cool anyway.

He moved to skip it, but the temptation was too much. Mikey closed his eyes and let his voice filter through his brain.

Summer has gone and past
Innocence can never last
Wake me up when September ends

Notes